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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043467">What We Lost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleil01/pseuds/soleil01'>soleil01</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death, Depression, Drug Abuse, F/F, Grief, Suicidal Ideation, This is really dark btw lol, and other tw’s will be included according to chapters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:48:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30043467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleil01/pseuds/soleil01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A couple of hours later, the call comes.</p>
<p>And where is Emily, exactly?</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>a deep dive into the team's grief and Emily's return, with a slow-burn Jemily.</p>
<p>HIATUS COS WORK'S  A BITCH</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Emily</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey everyone!</p>
<p>This story has been sitting with me for over a year now and I am finally ready to share it. It will have two parts - part I will deal with the team's grief, from each character's perspective; part II will be all about Emily's return, more or less.</p>
<p>I hope you guys enjoy it. </p>
<p>CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:</p>
<p>- Explicit Sex<br/>- Drug Abuse<br/>- Depression</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>PART I </strong>
</p>
<p>EMILY</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a glass of whiskey in one hand and a Glock in another, Emily sits staring outside into the still night of Paris. Positioned by the window nearest to the door, she watches the trees struggle against the turbulent wind, thinking, waiting.</p>
<p>It was - she squints at the watch on the far wall - 3 am. Many hours to come until she could abandon her watch, but for now, she stares absentmindedly and recalls the few times she could sleep.</p>
<p>She dreamt of her family, her home; of being with JJ and Penelope on a girl’s night, laughing loudly and with abandon. Other times it would be Spencer that would come into her unconsciousness. In that dream, she went to that screening of Solaris in Russian with him and choose to trust instead of running away. And her team would save her and she would kill Doyle. And none of this would happen.</p>
<p>If only that had been true. If only it hadn’t been impossible.</p>
<p>In another dream, she would be sat in Hotch’s office with David and a bottle of expensive wine as they talked for hours. Sometimes she dreamt of the time she would pick Hotch up from his apartment, the time of George Foyet, where she stuck to him like glue because she too knew what it was like to be hunted and afraid and she would be damned if she ever let him think he was alone - never, since they'd met, had she ever let him forget her friendship. And when she had woken up confused and in pain in that hospital room, he’d returned the gift: he’d held her hand and assured her that everything would be alright; his brown eyes staring into her own with all the sympathy of the world, the sympathy of one broken person to another.</p>
<p>That night wasn't the first time she'd cried in front of Hotch.</p>
<p>But the dream she looked forward to the most was the one with JJ. They were on their way to Paris in the Jet, Emily’s knee touching JJ’s leg just barely, as she talked about her assignment, speaking with such profiler confidence it made Emily’s heart hurt. All she wanted at that moment was to lean over and hold her hand. Go home.</p>
<p>They talked for all the hours it took them to get to Paris. JJ’s hand squeezing hers every now and then, her comforting demeanour breaking walls already weakened by Doyle, almost bringing Emily to the point of confessing.</p>
<p>But then JJ showed her a picture of Will and Henry with paint on their cheeks, her lips spread into a beaming smile, a whole world in her eyes at the sight of her boys.</p>
<p>And Emily knows she couldn’t ruin her JJ’s life like that.</p>
<p>Emily squeezes her eyes shut, willing the memory of her sweet lips away, replacing the taste of her mouth with whiskey. That one drunken night they’d kissed still imprinted on her mind like the four-leaf clover on her breast. The alcohol burns as she swallows and she is reminded of her nightmares too.</p>
<p>Ian was on top of her and she was Lauren. They would move in sync and sweet nothings were exchanged. Then, his hand would wrap around her neck, squeezing inhumanly hard, spitting curses in French as she turned into Emily. Then he’d stab her, burn her, hunt her down all the while screaming “I OWN YOU.”</p>
<p>“Where are you, Lauren?” He’d taunt as she ran, “Give up already, love.”</p>
<p>She’d wake up when he finally caught up to her and fired a bullet between her eyes.</p>
<p>Emily reaches towards the bottle of whiskey situated upon the small table next to her, filling her glass again, wondering which was worse: the nightmares with Doyle or the dreams with her family?</p>
<p>This fear Doyle ignited in her kept her alive, kept her moving, kept her barely holding on just so she could go back to her family. But the memories cut away at her. The hope in them, the remembrance, the happiness of the life she once had haunted her more than the Irish man whose son she stole.</p>
<p>How long can I keep doing this?, she thinks as she lifts the glass to her lips, how long can I survive on dreams and fear alone?</p>
<p>Because eating hadn’t come easy and neither had sleep; and joy, as small as it could be, was the most unattainable of things for her. Alcohol, fear and dreams were her only form of sustenance.</p>
<p>Looking away from the window for a second, she takes in the flat around her, squinting in the darkness. At the very least, she was comfortable residency wise. They had given her a sizable amount of money to keep comfortable and she had taken that in stride, she would be damned if she let herself wither away in some shabby hotel for the benefit of Ian Doyle. She could rot in a comfortable apartment and with sizable storage of alcohol, thank you very much.</p>
<p>Emily doubted he would guess she would be so careless, in times past she wouldn’t have been. In fact, for the first few months, she had done the whole shabby backstreet hotel thing but then, as the loneliness sank in and she started to drink more and more, she decided she, in the very least, could let herself have another piece of luxury, of carelessness. It’s not like he knew she was alive, or that she was in Paris, or that she sat up drinking long into the night. No, she shakes her head, he won’t guess she’s here. But…</p>
<p>She could still be careful, couldn’t she? Her hand twitches as she thinks of the Glock resting on her knee. It felt like the darkness around her had seeped into her pores.</p>
<p>And the dark… it almost quieted her swirling thoughts, the hypervigilance, the nail-biting. Except that one of the reasons, she kept the light off was to ward off anyone who might try and invade the flat and say, strangle her. So, a double-edged sword, one could say.</p>
<p>If it was dark, she wasn’t real and neither were the past six months. She could be anywhere. She could be in the US, in her apartment after a long day at work. Sitting up due to restlessness, moving to get a glass of water, waiting for morning to come to return to her job, to her team. She could be at home.</p>
<p>She takes another swing of the whiskey.</p>
<p>Emily was sure she didn’t need the light, anyway. She’d memorised the layout of the small flat by now; in her mind’s eye, she could see every piece of furniture, every door, every wall and she could hear and anticipate every creak of the floor. Nothing would go past her, no noise, no movement.</p>
<p>Ian Doyle would not kill her so easily. Even with the lack of self-preservation much of her behaviour showed, Emily still couldn’t let go completely. She could at least pretend to care.</p>
<p>She couldn’t say the same about the whiskey she had been drinking. In the first months, she had spent pretending to be dead, Emily could not bring herself to touch an ounce of alcohol. She was afraid it would cause more damage to her already fragile body… and also, how could she trust herself to be watchful if she was drunk?</p>
<p>But the end of the third month, Emily had given up on that rule and figured that if Doyle found her, he’d kill her, drunk or not.</p>
<p>She can’t pinpoint when the change of mindset came but at some point, she had forgotten that she once wanted to live. And now, she huffs to herself as she unsteadily raises a hand to wipe at her mouth, now she doesn’t remember what sobriety was.</p>
<p>At least it helped numb the constant anxiety pooling at the bottom of her belly.</p>
<p>She reaches for the gun and thinks about the set of contradictions her life had become.</p>
<p>There was nothing that she could really say to justify it, not that she cared to. It helped pass the time since all sunrise brought was more hyper-vigilance. It helped her feel something other than guilt and pain.</p>
<p>It was productive, in a way, to be pissed off one’s face constantly. And she didn’t plan on stopping.</p>
<p>At least not while she was dead.</p>
<p>I can get my shit together once I’m back home.</p>
<p>If that ever happens.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>———</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ah! Emily thinks upon stretching her sore neck, I really need a more comfortable chair to stake out in.</p>
<p>The sun had risen and as she shied away from the light, she felt too uncomfortable in the chair not to abandon her post. As much as she enjoyed darkness, the light of day brought a certain business to Paris that made her want to move about, even if just for a little bit, even if just out of that chair. The alcohol also helped her careless, by now, she was very, very, very drunk.</p>
<p>Maybe it was just another contradiction.</p>
<p>Regardless, she’d put things in place, just in case. Pushing the chair against the door sloppily, Emily grunts softly at the pressure it puts on her stomach; on that tender spot where a table leg had once stuck out of. She moves to the windows, to check they were shut tightly and to close the curtains and turns around, staring blankly at the living room.</p>
<p>The world sways so much.</p>
<p>Emily presses her palm against the cool wall.</p>
<p>Steady, steady, steady…</p>
<p>Emily grabs the whiskey and glass in her hands and drags herself to the bed. Pulling at the covers, she settles in and turns on the TV. As had become usual to her, she lowers the sound until she can barely hear the characters talking and turns on the subtitles. In this way, she could hear anything that happened around her without much distraction.</p>
<p>This was how she brought herself to relax nowadays. It’s hard to be picky when you’re dead to all your loved ones.</p>
<p>This, this, was her new routine, her new comfort. Staying up all night, watching TV mindlessly all day, and the constant drinking. And, of course, the hyper-vigilance instilled deep into her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>———</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When the call she’d been waiting for for months comes, she is in the least desirable of states.</p>
<p>She had been up for several days due to a newfound paranoia: if she slept, he’d come in and make her nightmare true.</p>
<p>Despite knowing it was irrational, whenever she closed her eyes she swore she could hear his breathing right next to her.</p>
<p>Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the months of disrupted sleep but whatever it was - she was certain - wasn’t going to go away.</p>
<p>At one point she felt so suffocated and trapped inside that cosy Parisian apartment and that she made a decision she probably shouldn’t have: Emily decided to go out.</p>
<p>Out, as in, outside her flat, as in outside her comfort zone, as in outside the only place she could control who came in and who came out. The only other times she had left home was to purchase more alcohol and sometimes, food. It wasn’t lost on her that her clothes were now hanging off her body but as long as she didn’t look at herself in the mirror, she didn’t need to face her starved frame. Besides, who was she trying to convince she was healthy? No one, no one at all.</p>
<p>Most shocking of all, Emily didn’t just decide to go to say, the supermarket or a café - she’d decided to go to a nightclub; some popular, hip place where twenty-somethings frequented every night. It was a couple of blocks away from her flat and, often, when Emily was up standing vigil, she’d seen girls and boys and those in-between dressed lavishly and laughing their heads off, so drunk they couldn’t walk.</p>
<p>Now that she stood in her dark jeans and a low-cut top, she knew why she’d decided that that nightclub was where she should go to find herself. Her dark brown hair curled naturally around her shoulders, the overgrown bangs fanning out into the sides of her head, her eyes, dull and distant, skirted by eye-bags. Her skin paler than it had been, her face thinner, eyes gaunter. In a small effort to bring some life into herself, she grabs a red lipstick from the bathroom cupboard and drags it across her lips. Once done, Emily rubs her lips together and shakes her hair a bit, trying different angles to see if she resembled her old self, even if just a fraction of time.</p>
<p>No, she shakes her head slightly and steps away from the mirror, adjusting her shirt.</p>
<p>Emily moves into the bedroom and packs her gun, a pack of cigarettes and several euros into a small, leather purse. Double-checking the windows all around the house, she breathes deeply and leaves her flat.</p>
<p>It’s colder than she expected. Brighter too, she realises as she squints against the street lights, wrapping her arms around her bare skin.</p>
<p>Emily makes her way to the nightclub, her toes digging into her heels, so unused to the glamour she once had strutted with, and she can’t help but glance behind her shoulder every now and then. Laughter comes from around the corner and she stops dead in her tracks, panicked almost, until she sees three young women walking off, arms linked. Emily stares at them with longing… two blonds, one brunette. They look so happy, so young, so…free.</p>
<p>What am I doing? She trembles as she thinks of how pathetic she must look; some forty-something woman trying to be… she sucks on her bottom lip, trying to be what? She couldn’t go to the nightclub, at least not that one, not with all those kids around making her age poke out of her skin.</p>
<p>Especially considering how she must look - a skinny, pale white woman with a smudge of lipstick that had been untouched for ages. The only thing she has going for her is her dark hair, still shinny and sleek despite her lack of care for herself.</p>
<p>The bar?</p>
<p>She bites her bottom lip harder, she isn’t sure whether or not she‘d find what she wanted there; someone to sleep with.</p>
<p>With a sigh and a self-conscious tug at her clothes, Emily makes her way to the nightclub.</p>
<p>Looking back, she wonders if she would’ve done what she did that night knowing she was going to go home the next morning.</p>
<p>———</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The atmosphere in the club is intoxicating, to say the very least.</p>
<p>From the comfortable spot at the corner of the club, Emily has a direct view of the entrance, the one window and the bathroom, which, all in all, does wonders for her paranoia. Who said she can’t have fun and be paranoid?</p>
<p>The music in the club is loud, booming from massive speakers at the stage, to Emily’s left, a DJ being responsible for the ecstasy rolling over everyone’s body. The people on the dance floor dancing frantically, sensually, individually and with a partner. Some had face paint on, some glowed in the dark in streaks of fluorescent paint but all - all - were absolutely and undoubtedly off their faces.</p>
<p>She can’t say if it was on alcohol or something more potent. As her finger swirls around the rim of her cocktail glass, Emily watches attentively as they move. She wonders if she should go and find out exactly what they were high of off.</p>
<p>No, bad idea, her old self, the little bit that remains anyway, says but… it had been so long since she’d—</p>
<p>“Hey,” a soft, sensuous voice coos in French, “Is this seat taken?”</p>
<p>Emily looks up into dark, almond eyes and a mass of coily hair. Her voice catches in her throat at the sudden interruption, nerves fried, and she smiles tentatively, “Sure.”</p>
<p>The woman, barely thirty, sat beside her, a fancy pink cocktail in hand. She’s…gorgeous. Maybe the nervousness that lumped in Emily’s throat wasn’t just because of the last seven months of isolation…</p>
<p>“What’s someone like you doing here?” The pretty woman tilts her head and flashes a too-white smile in her direction.</p>
<p>“Uh,” she stutters, unable to conjure that cat-like confidence she once possessed, “what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“You don’t seem like every other Parisian in here,”</p>
<p>“Ah,” she licks her lips, casting her eyes down, “I’m American, actually.”</p>
<p>Emily’s back stiffens as she mentally kicks herself for letting out a potentially dangerous piece of information. There was only so much carelessness she could accept from herself.</p>
<p>“Really?” the woman raises an arched brow, “Your accent is very good.”</p>
<p>Emily takes a moment to assess the woman in front of her for any malicious intent: her almond eyes, dark like Emily’s own, seemed too pure to hold any. A tightly coiled, dark hair rested upon her head and framed her face flatteringly. But her plump, dark-red lips were what Emily had to consciously look away from.</p>
<p>It’s almost panicking to feel an interest in someone again</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Emily takes a swing of her cocktail, hands trembling a little bit at the first meaningful interaction with another person in months.</p>
<p>The woman seems somewhat joyous at Emily’s shyness - or at least, that’s what she believes it is - and pushes herself forward, her breasts resting atop the table; plump and beautiful in the tight, black shirt she was wearing.</p>
<p>Emily spares a quick glance at her cleavage, drinking again, stomach queasy.</p>
<p>Maybe... She could allow herself just this one.</p>
<p>“What’s your name?” The woman says softly as if not to scare Emily away. Such tenderness makes Emily’s heart hurt, and she willingly takes the bait, shaking off the thought of the woman she truly wanted.</p>
<p>Gathering as much dominance as she can, Emily looks up and spreads her lips into a full, charming grin.</p>
<p>“Lauren.”</p>
<p>It was so easy to slip back into a persona, to disassociate herself from who she really was, to hide as she always had. There was no use for Emily now.</p>
<p>Had there ever been?</p>
<p>You didn’t have to hide at the B.A.U.</p>
<p>“Lauren…” the woman looks at her in a way Emily had missed being looked at for so long, “That’s a beautiful name you’ve got, Lauren.”</p>
<p>She drawls out her name slowly, tongue going over her lips and teeth as she does so. Emily doesn’t need to be a profiler to know what she wants.</p>
<p>How? I’m so… destroyed. Emily can’t help but think. But this isn’t Emily’s time, not Emily’s turf… it was Lauren’s.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?” Lauren pushes her own breasts onto the table, resting her chin on her left hand.</p>
<p>“Camille,” her dark eyes catch the swirling light of the nightclub for a second and Emily’s breath is knocked out of her lungs at the pure, untainted beauty there.</p>
<p>“I like it,” Lauren smiles seductively at her and Camille chuckles.</p>
<p>Camille flicks her hair over one shoulder and, without hesitation, adds:</p>
<p>“I’m going to the bathroom,” eyeing Emily up and down.</p>
<p>Emily is too anxious to let herself go. But Lauren is ready for whatever’s awaiting her.</p>
<p>Camille walks off. Lauren downs the rest of her cocktail and follows. The loud boom of the DJ’s music follows Lauren as she trails after Camille, weaving through crowds of people, eyes fixed on the back of the other woman’s hair. The bathroom isn’t far at all, the only reason why it takes so long is the amount of people in the way, Lauren’s intoxication and the jittery anxiety coursing through her veins. But Lauren gets there eventually and Camille is leaning over the sink, snorting a line.</p>
<p>Emily closes the door behind her, eyes fixed at the white lines on the bathroom counter. The bathroom is dim, a bit dirty and small.</p>
<p>“Want a line?” Camille straightens up wiping at her nose.</p>
<p>Lauren couldn’t care less about the cocaine - but Emily craves it just as much as when she was sixteen and on a self-destructive rampage. The only difference now was that she wasn’t a misguided teen.</p>
<p>She was a grown woman.</p>
<p>She was a dead woman.</p>
<p>Emily moves over and snorts one line and then another. Sniffing hard and wiping at her nose, she looks up and shakes her hair out of her face. That’s when she feels Camille’s breath on her neck, her hands wrapping around her waist, those warm lips of hers trailing down her neck.</p>
<p>Emily knows it hasn’t been long enough for the coke to kick in but her nose feels numb and euphoria takes over her limbs. She laughs loudly and turns around towards Camille, overconfidence making her push her against the wall. The younger woman gasps and grins, eyes shining in the dim lighting of the bathroom. Her hands move to grab at Emily’s - no, Lauren’s neck and bring her lips closer whilst Lauren puts her hands on Camille’s hips.</p>
<p>When their lips meet Lauren swears she’s in love.</p>
<p>Emily knows it’s just the coke.</p>
<p>Camille moans against her as Lauren pushes her tongue into her mouth impatiently. She’s not disappointed when the young woman tastes like a mixture of alcohol and pink lemonade. Lauren presses her harder against the wall, knee going between Camille’s legs, pushing upwards searching to elicit a sound from her.</p>
<p>“T’as de beaux yeux, tu sais?” Camille moans out, breathing heavily, hands fumbling to get Lauren’s shirt off.</p>
<p>Lauren doesn’t take a moment to respond to the compliment, she merely presses her knee up harder and takes off Camille’s shirt.</p>
<p>It’s only now that she notices Camille has no bra on.</p>
<p>Lauren lowers her lips to the round breasts that appear in front of her and wraps them around the dark, protruding nipple, both her hands fondling Camille’s breasts. The younger woman shows her pleasure by moaning louder, saying her name in a thick, French accent and bucking her hips.</p>
<p>Lauren can feel the heat emanating off her body, the need seeping through her thin pants and the desperation for intimacy. Too impatient for more and still sucking at Camille’s breast, Lauren lowers her fingers to the warmth between the writhing woman’s legs, fingers diving eagerly into her folds. The wetness she finds makes her skin tingle and Camille’s loud moans at the slow, paced circles Lauren is rubbing on her clit makes a new wave of euphoria wash over her.</p>
<p>She’s in control; she’s in power; she’s not helpless here. There is no Doyle and no headstone with her name. There is only Camille and Lauren and the distant booming of music that masks their moans.</p>
<p>Lauren always had a way to take control, didn’t she?</p>
<p>She’s pulled out of her thoughts by Camille switching their position. She’s startled at the sheer strength in the younger woman’s body, too startled to react in time before she’s pressed up against the wall and Camille is sucking on the tender skin between her shoulder and neck. Then Camille has her finger snaking up her shirt, sending tingles across Lauren’s skin, taking off her bra strap and squeezing at her right nipple.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” Lauren’s mouth betrays her and so does her mouth, “Mange-moi.”</p>
<p>Her nipple drops from Camille’s mouth as she smiles widely. She grabs Lauren’s hips roughly and bites her neck, demanding:</p>
<p>“Supplie-moi.”</p>
<p>She can’t help but tremble at the command and, in other times, she would’ve held out longer, edging herself until she couldn’t anymore. She would’ve taken charge, made Camille beg instead but—</p>
<p>Camille twists her nipple roughly:</p>
<p>“Supplie-moi, maintenant.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Lauren emphasises her need by grabbing the dark-skinned woman’s hair in a fist and pulling her into a searching kiss.</p>
<p>Quicker than Lauren thought was humanely possible, Camille drops to her knees, tugging at Emily’s jeans until it pools around one leg whilst the other is free. She lifts said leg on her shoulder, moving forward to nestle her face in between Lauren’s legs, teasing her with her nose, almond eyes full of arousal.</p>
<p>Lauren throws her head back, banging softly into the wall, pressing herself against Camille’s face. She’s so wet she knows Camille can feel her through her underwear and she doesn’t care about self-restraint, she doesn’t care about the weight of her old life or how much she misses the only person she’d fallen in love with. She doesn’t and can’t care, she only wants to feel Camille’s warm tongue licking her. She has to fistfight herself to not drop Lauren and become Emily - needy, needy, needy.</p>
<p>Camille doesn’t hold out, she’s generous with her tongue: long strokes up and down her new-found lover’s core, hands digging into Lauren’s hips, hard enough to bruise. And when she finds Lauren keen enough, wet enough with her own saliva, legs trembling enough with want, she moves her tongue to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her lips.</p>
<p>And Emily, no, Lauren, no, Emily is enjoying this so, so much, too much; she can feel tears at the corner of her eyes, her heart beating fast with coke and excitement. She can’t help but grind down against her lover, her chest heaving heavily with each movement. And Camille’s warm, wet mouth, coaxing her higher and higher up the curve of climax, feels too much like care, like love, like that one night she’d fallen asleep beside JJ and felt more at home that she ever had in the entirety of her life. And Emily pushes that warmth away and stumbles to the right, breathing hard, trembling.</p>
<p>Camille, still on the floor, mouth glistening asks “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>Emily just shakes her head and puts her pants on frantically, struggling against her breath and body; struggling with just how much she wants Camille to finish her off, how much she wants to taste her too. Emily leans against the wall and licks her lips, hands curling into a fist.</p>
<p>Stop stop stop stop stop-</p>
<p>“Hey,” Camille is standing in front of her now, wiping at her mouth, voice tender, “Did I do something wrong?”</p>
<p>“No,” Emily turns away and hastily washes her hand and face, “You didn’t, I just can’t.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” the evident disappointment clutches at her heart but she keeps focusing on washing her hands, on controlling her breathing, her want, and ignoring her wet underwear.</p>
<p>Once she’s done she turns around to see Camille adjusting her own clothes. When she looks at Emily, her almond eyes are kind. She’s so, so, so pretty that older woman wants to cry.</p>
<p>“Want to do more coke?” Camille smiles as she reaches for her purse.</p>
<p>This is not something Emily can say no to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>———</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A couple of hours later, the call comes.</p>
<p>And where is Emily, exactly?</p>
<p>She doesn’t quite know because her head is swirling with alcohol, her nose numb with the several lines of cocaine she had done. Every high was lesser than the last, never as good as the first at all, but still gave her enough euphoria, enough confidence to carry on. The pretty woman, Camille, the one with soft plump lips and a warm mouth Emily lets herself kiss over and over, is just as gone as Emily is.</p>
<p>They’d been bar hopping drunkenly, talking meaningless shit, the sexual tension clearly thick in the air. But Camille, much to Emily’s gratitude, doesn’t push for more. She knows, in some way, that Emily couldn’t let herself go that far.</p>
<p>Apparently, shooting up her veins with cocaine was fine with her though. At the fourth or fifth bar they were at, Camille seems to find friends of hers. Two women, one blonde, another black. They’re pleasant enough, perhaps due to the Molly they’d popped half an hour ago, and they all dance in a tight group on the dance floor. Camille moves against Emily, eyeing her up with those brown eyes of hers, her friends cheering them on. A couple of men tried to have a go against the women but they’d pushed them off, strength in numbers reducing any fear of violence.</p>
<p>Once Emily has had enough alcohol to nearly pass out, she decides to sit down at the corner and watch Camille move. She’s dancing with one of her friends, none of that sensuality she had with Emily present and, God, she’s so pleased. She regrets not letting Camille finish her off or getting her own chance of tasting what the black woman had to offer and if she wasn’t quite so hammered, she would’ve dragged Camille to the bathroom again and had her way with her.</p>
<p>She doubts her friends would care.</p>
<p>This night had passed so slowly and yet so fast, her head in another place, Emily practically non-existent, merging with Lauren and falling back into other women she’d pretended to be across the years. But Doyle doesn’t come into her mind, her fear and hyper-vigilance linger but the pure ecstasy of the many lines she’d taken allow her to leave it behind. If only for a night.</p>
<p>Camille stumbles out of the circle of people dancing and makes her way towards Emily, hips swinging. She barges against someone and giggles mischievously and when she reaches Emily, she bends over the table.</p>
<p>“I think I have something you’ll like,” Camille says in French.</p>
<p>“Really?” Emily mumbles, slowed down by drunkenness, “show me.”</p>
<p>She plops down on a chair and pulls out a small syringe and a bag of white. Emily squints through heavy-lidded eyes for a while before her eyebrows raise.</p>
<p>“How pure is it?”</p>
<p>“A hundred per cent,” Camille smiles wickedly, “Adélie hooked me up.”</p>
<p>Emily sucks on her bottom lip, pondering. So dangerous it would be to shoot up cocaine but how fun...</p>
<p>If only she’d known Doyle had just been found…</p>
<p>“Come on, Lauren!” Camille pushes on, “It’ll be fun. We can do it in the bathroom.”</p>
<p>The emphasis on the last word isn’t lost on her.</p>
<p>“Alright,” and they’re off.</p>
<p>This time, unfortunately, her friend, Adélie, follows after. They close the door and Emily presses her back against it, just in case. She feels like a teenager again. She watches the two women giggle and stumble towards the sink on unsteady high heel shoes. Camille looks over her shoulder back at Emily and inclines her head as if to ask her over. Emily smiles a little bit, attempting to shake off her nervousness and obliges.</p>
<p>From where she stands now Emily can see the spoon in Adélie’s hand, the white powder there and the syringe resting on the kitchen counter. She’s squeezing water droplets out of a tiny bottle and letting on the powder and mixes it well with the lid of the bottle. Camille squeals with delight once the cocaine is sufficiently diluted and eagerly reaches for the syringe. Adélie playfully slaps her hand away and tells her to be patient which only makes Camille look at Emily, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>The dark-skinned woman walks past her friend and reaches Emily, a slight swaying to her hips and a lip in between teeth. She strokes a strand of hair behind Emily’s hear, who can’t help but shiver a little and think here? Right in front of her friend?</p>
<p>Adélie turns around with an elastic band in hand and the syringe in other, lightly flicking at the tip of the former. She sees the proximity of the two women in front of her and smiles a little:</p>
<p>“Who’s gonna go first?”</p>
<p>“Lauren,” Camille says mischievously.</p>
<p>Who is Lauren to complain?</p>
<p>Adélie cheers Emily over and raises her sleeve, her hands warm and soft. She turns around to get an elastic band from her purse, proceeding to wrap it around Emily’s upper arm, just above the elbow. Then, Adélie picks up the syringe from where she had left it on the counter, flicks at the tip again and feels around the inside of Emily’s elbow for a vein.</p>
<p>“Ready?” Adélie’s blue eyes look into hers and she can’t help but think of other blue eyes.</p>
<p>Emily nods. When the needle pricks into her skin, she winces a little bit; more so from the excitement than the pain, the anticipation of the high that was to come. When the cocaine enters her system, god, Emily can’t think remember last time she felt this good. A cool, minty chill shoots down her spine then spreads out into her body, her muscles, every cell. She feels her legs tremble as she’s overcome by her drugs and hands are pulling her into a sitting position. Her head is rising and there’s a ringing building building building into a roar as she’s overcome by a sense of peace mixed with excitement that washes away every bad day in the last six months. Every memory, every nightmare, every drop of alcohol she needed to numb her down.</p>
<p>She’s just so happy.</p>
<p>After however long, she opens her eyes, smiling, beaming, to no one and everyone. She moves her head to the left and sees Adélie and Camille sitting beside her, just as gone as she is. They’re chatting away to each other and Emily could focus if she wanted to, but being in her own head is just fine for now.</p>
<p>She hears the door clicking open and the clicking sound of heels make their way into her ears, much too fast. She looks to her companions in confusion at their lack of reaction but they are too entranced by the drugs. Camille has her hand on top of Emily’s thigh and she squeezes periodically, but no matter how hard she tries she can’t remember when it ended up there.</p>
<p>“Em?” A familiar voice calls to her. She frowns, looks up and realising who it is, her mouth opens agape.</p>
<p>“Jen?” she calls out softly, reaching out to her. Emily gets on her knees but struggles to get up. JJ is there in an instant and she reaches out for her, grabbing her arms and pulling her up gently.</p>
<p>“Hi, baby,” She says whilst smiling and gently rubbing the sides of her arms. Her hair seems impossibly bright and her eyes are piercing and kind. Emily can’t help but gape at her.</p>
<p>“What…” Emily mutters, “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>JJ just smiles at her and says, “You gotta be careful, Em.”</p>
<p>“What?” She frowns and looks over her shoulder at her newfound friends, still sitting and chatting. Camille spares her a glance, a hint of confusion in her eyes as she takes in Emily’s stance.</p>
<p>Before she can say anything to her, JJ grabs her chin gently and turns her face around.</p>
<p>“Emily,” The blonde breathes out her name slowly leaving little goosebumps along Emily’s skin, “I’ve missed you so much.”</p>
<p>“Jennifer…” She mutters back, her hand going up to cup JJ’s face, reaching into her hair and caressing the soft tresses that weave between her fingers, “I miss you too…”</p>
<p>She just smiles back, her plump bottom lip drawing the eyes of the brunette standing in front of her, holding weakly to reality. JJ moves so closely that Emily can feel her warm breath caressing her lips. Is she… is she going to kiss me?</p>
<p>God knows Emily wants her to. Ever since that one heated kiss in her apartment, way before Will, when JJ walked her drunk friend home after a night out with the team, their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, both tipsy but Emily more so. She’d been surprised with herself at the amount of carefree happiness that had run through her veins the moment it was just her and JJ, how she had let go of her last little bit of control there, leaned a little more into the blonde whose cheeks were pink with intoxication. And then… as they were about to say their goodbyes, she’d drunkenly stumbled forward and JJ caught her way, laughing loudly. At that moment, Emily thought she’d never look more beautiful and despite her sober fears, she’d leaned in and kissed her friend.</p>
<p>And JJ kissed her back just as hard.</p>
<p>“Lauren?” Camille calls out to her sharply and Emily’s head whips around again, confused at the weird tone of her voice, “Who are you talking to?”</p>
<p>“Huh? I’m talking to…” and when she turns around to point at JJ again, she’s not there.</p>
<p>What? She stands there with her arms awkwardly stretched out, no longer feeling the warmth of another body pressed against her, the breath that promised a kiss, the blonde hair that caressed her skin.</p>
<p>The weight of her loneliness sunk in once again. God… I’m really losing it.</p>
<p>“Lauren,” Camille calls again, “Adélie wants to go out and dance!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I do,” Adélie says, getting up from her position, “I’m bored in here.”</p>
<p>“Right,” She says as she lowers her arms and tries to play it cool, “Let’s go then, just give me a second to wash up.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course,” Camille links arms with an unsteady but happy Adélie and they proceed to leave the bathroom, not without a last wink from the dark-haired woman, “We’ll wait for you.”</p>
<p>Emily moves to the sink, putting all her weight into it, breathing out hard. What the fuck had that been? Why had she let herself fall back into that stupid, stupid, stupid crush?</p>
<p>Loneliness really was one hell of a thing.</p>
<p>Maybe she’d drag Camille back into the bathroom and finish what they’d started earlier.</p>
<p>Yeah… she looks up at herself in the mirror, through gaunt tired eyes.</p>
<p>She straightens up after a couple of minutes of breathing out the feeling of JJ’s body against hers, the one she’d imagined tonight, the one she’d felt when JJ’s tongue had slipped into her mouth, and Emily wipes at the sweat on her forehead. Only now she notices the effect of the cocaine wearing off and she sluggishness of the lack of sleep creeping up on her steadily.</p>
<p>This is where Emily is when the call comes.</p>
<p>The phone in her forgotten purse rings and it takes her a second to figure out where it is. She crouches down and spots it underneath the bathroom sink and reaches out for it, brown furrowing in confusion, heart pounding with anxiety. Who is it who is it is it her is it him who is it…</p>
<p>“Hello?” she asks with a shaky voice, too rattled by the abrupt call that tore through her hazy mind to compose herself better.</p>
<p>“Emily?” Hotch’s deep, cool voice makes her suck in a breath through gritted teeth, “We’ve caught him, Emily.”</p>
<p>“What?” She breathes out.</p>
<p>“We’ve arrested Doyle.” Hotch says almost softly, “You can come home now.”</p>
<p>“Oh god,” she mumbles and feels her knees weaken, trembling. “Now?”</p>
<p>“Whenever you’re ready.”</p>
<p>“Do they know I’m…”</p>
<p>“No. Not yet,” Hotch sighs, “They’ll know by the time you’re here. I’m sending a jet to pick you up. The details have been sent to your cell.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” She nods even though he can’t see it.</p>
<p>“See you soon, Em,” Hotch says softly.</p>
<p>She hangs up without responding.</p>
<p>She leaves the bathroom she had copped up in with friends for god knows how long, rushes past crowds of people and makes for the club exit</p>
<p>But then the thought of Camille enters her mind. A goodbye was more than the polite thing to do, especially considering what the beautiful stranger had done for her tonight, allowed her a little bit of escapism, some time outside of herself, outside of Emily…</p>
<p>No, she breathes in, this was never real, this was never my life, this was never me.</p>
<p>Emily pushes through the door into the cool night air, leaving Lauren and her friends behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. JJ</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It wasn’t just the grief.<br/>It wasn’t just the years of repression catching up to her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CONTENT WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:</p><p>mentions of suicide, miscarriage, death, repressed sexuality, grief, suggestions of alcohol abuse.</p><p>UPDATE: accidentally posted this unfinished OOOPS</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <strong>PART II</strong>
</p><p>JJ</p><p> </p><p>In the time between losing Emily and losing her unborn child, JJ felt like she hadn’t taken a single breath. Her head had felt light-headed and the world distant, her hands shaky and unreal, her body numb to touch and temperature.</p><p>She felt starved of reality because surely, this wasn’t real; surely, Emily had just been hurt whilst fighting the usual UnSub, surely she hadn’t been a spy for many years, doing work she never could tell anyone about.</p><p>JJ snorts to herself, noticing the new similarities between her and Emily.</p><p>But most of all, she needed to wipe away the memory of her unborn child, the one she’d found out about so hastily and lost just as suddenly. A child she never got to tell Will about. A child Henry would never call his sister - for, in her nightmares, ghosts came to her showing her a dead baby girl.</p><p>
  <em>(What JJ will never admit, not until later years when all of this is a faint, bitter memory on her tongue, is that being taken away from her family and then losing them changed who she was as a person. Yes, working for the BAU had torn her innocence apart, but that had been tenuous since Roslyn’s suicide. Nothing had ever hit so close, so deeply until her miscarriage, not even when a man so close to her was kidnapped and beaten whilst all she could do was stand and watch. At least then, she had her team, her family. With her miscarriage it had been far from home, all on her own… one blow after the next)</em>
</p><p>She shuffles into her house, dropping her bag at the entrance, taking off her shoes and leaving them there. It was too early for Henry to be home from Preschool and Will from work. Flinging her keys onto the dining table, she can’t help but think it’s for the best. After being shipped off due to her injuries, she needed a little time to herself. To let out that breath, to think about that unborn child.</p><p>And Emily.</p><p>God, all she wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep for hours. JJ wishes she could teleport into her bedroom, into her home clothes, into the blankets, into the world of sleep and comfort and dreams. Maybe she would dream of a time before Afghanistan and Lauren, a world where Emily, Nadia and her daughter weren’t dead.</p><p>Except there two differences between the two cases; one, Emily wasn’t really dead. Two, Emily’s death hadn’t been her fault. So, why did it feel like it was?</p><p>With a sigh, the tired woman begins to peel off her clothes as she makes her way to the bathroom. After a quick and much needed shower, she dries herself and crawls into bed in all her nakedness, caring little, caring for nothing.</p><p>And what does she dream of? She dreams of a little blonde girl, wrapped up in an endearing yellow blanket. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is a beautiful fleshy pink, like a freshly cut fig. This baby, who JJ knows is named after her sister, her Roslyn, coos and twitches a little bit in her cocoon. A small chuckle escapes the lips of the woman who gently sways her in her arms. This woman of dark chocolate hair and darker, piercing eyes stands a few feet away from her, wearing a hospital gown, bleeding through a wound on her stomach.</p><p>JJ’s peace turns into horror as she runs over and grabs the baby from her hand, motherly instincts making her react instantly.</p><p>“Jayje…” the woman says, eyes going wide with terror, and her now empty hands scramble at her own abdomen. She clutches and pinches and pushes into her own flesh, panic rising with every action and reaction eliciting a louder scream from her. The small girl in her arms begin to fuss and cry, her voice as high pitched as a bird of prey in the middle of death. JJ’s gaze flicks from the woman to the child and she joins in their chorus of pain with her own wailing, knowing what’s gonna happen to both of them, knowing she can only hold on to one.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” JJ yells over the woman’s cries as she falls onto her back. Gasping, gurgling, cold and alone.</p><p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She’s on her knees next to this woman, baby screaming in her arms, “I should’ve told you, I should’ve told you.”</p><p>The woman’s screaming stops and she lies still and Roslyn cries and cries and cries until her face is so red she can’t breathe. Then she’s dead too.</p><p>“No!” JJ wails as her tears coat the baby’s red, dead face, “My baby…”</p><p>She crawls over to the woman grasping at her cold body, dead baby in arm, crying over her too, and she’s saying <em>I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry</em>—</p><p>“What are you sorry for?” The woman says so suddenly JJ stills.</p><p>“What are you sorry for?” She repeats except this time her voice is melding with that of a man’s, of a thick accent and there are hands shaking her softly.</p><p>“JJ!” Her eyes fly open and gaze into her partner’s light eyes, “Baby, what are you sorry for?”</p><p>Sitting up, heaving, JJ grasps at his arms.</p><p>“JJ?” Will leans over closer to her, his cologne filling the blonde’s nostril so potently she feels she’s going to throw up.</p><p>“I’m fine, Will. Just,” She lets go of his arms and covers herself up with the blanket, suddenly aware of her nakedness, “A nightmare that’s all.”</p><p>She frowns and sits down at the edge of the bed. Then his expression goes soft and longing and he says:</p><p>“I’m so glad you’re home,” Will murmurs as he gently fingers her long tresses and goes to nuzzle her neck.</p><p>“Me too,” She smiles forcedly and pulls away from his touch. Would he be this sweet towards her if he knew what she had lost? What they’d lost?</p><p>“Henry’s downstairs playing with his toys. He wants his mama,” Will smiles at her, softly, lovingly, so understanding towards her when she doesn’t deserve it.</p><p>JJ dresses herself and makes her way downstairs, Will trailing behind talking about what they’d been up to while she was away and then moving off into the kitchen to fix them some dinner. When he’s out of earshot, JJ lets out a breath, realising that she felt relieved that he was gone.</p><p>Henry’s blonde head is the first thing she sees. He’s sitting at his little table near the TV, furiously drawing with a blue crayon.</p><p>“Hi baby,” JJ says as she kneels down by his side.</p><p>“Mommy!” Henry’s childish shriek makes her damaged ear ring, but she dares not flinch away from her baby boy.</p><p>The little boy jumps into her so hard it knocks her breath out. Gingerly, she wraps his arms around his small body, taking in his boyish face, smelling his toddler’s scent. She presses a kiss to his forehead for a little longer than she tends to, just for a little longer, just for some good measure. Or maybe to make up for the child she let die.</p><p>“I missed you, mommy,” Henry whispers as he plants a kiss on her cheek.</p><p>“I missed you too, buddy.”</p><p>As she looks into his green eyes she can’t help but wonder if her baby girl would’ve inherited the same colour. Would it be just as green or have a tinge of blue, matching her own? Would she inherit the stubborn sandy blonde hair?</p><p>“Let me show you my drawin’, mommy.” Her son tugs at her hand.</p><p>“Yes, baby.”</p><p>And she lets him show it to her. And she buries the thought of that other baby down deep, away into herself, beyond her conscious, beyond the reach of anyone.</p><p>But when night comes, JJ has the same dream all over again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p>It had been about a week since she’d been back.</p><p>She tried to get into the rhythm of things; waking up, feeding Henry, getting dressed, kissing Will goodbye, going to work, back to the BAU where she belonged. And for a while, if only for the course of a few days, she was able to lie to herself and pretend everything was okay.</p><p>That was around the time Spencer started coming over to her house late at night, messy hair, snotty nose and tears in his eyes.</p><p>Sometimes he even smelled of alcohol.</p><p>And it wasn’t that she couldn’t handle his grief spilling out of him in rambling statistics, nonsensical scientific facts about coping the loss of a loved one, or the sobs that took over his thin body whenever his intelligence couldn’t hold his pain from tumbling out. It was trust that emanated from him whenever he hid his face in her neck and let his tears soak her shirt. It was the fact he was seeking comfort from the person who’d helped take Emily away; she who was alive and well.</p><p>Not being able to tell him every time he came over ate at her in ways she couldn’t bring herself to phrase. They were as close as siblings and after Tobias Hankel, she’d sworn to protect him. But this time JJ had to protect Emily at the cost of betraying the rest of her family.</p><p>She remembered that fact every time Girls’ night came again in the following months. There was a new lack of vivacity when they laughed, spoke and drank. It wasn’t the same, as Penelope said, without, their raven-haired beauty there. JJ remembered her betrayal every time Penelope couldn’t stop herself from shedding a couple of tears when they’d braved the topic of her death; how much they missed her wit and friendship.</p><p>How much they’d just missed her.</p><p>(Guilt always invades her mind when she remembers after Emily’s death, instead of staying, she ran away, back to her assignment, back to Afghanistan… where more loss would follow)</p><p>JJ had even stopped letting herself get past the point of tipsy when they drank, for the fear of revealing what had truly happened. Penelope found it not fun, of course, but she sensed a degree of nervousness, fear, longing from JJ and so, uncharacteristically, she didn’t dig. It wasn’t so strange that they were all behaving a little out of character, herself included, Penelope had thought…</p><p>Still, it wasn’t easy and after a while JJ felt herself withdrawing. Spending more time at home with Henry, staying late at the office and sometimes sitting in Hotch’s office as they drank and talked about everything but what they needed to talk about the most.</p><p>JJ and Hotch became even closer than they already were, bound by this enormous secret. It made her laugh when she was alone, really, because Hotch and Emily had always been best friends; had both understood each other in a quiet, brunette way of theirs. And she had been Emily’s best friend too.</p><p>Now they were both here, in plain sight and hiding, grieving but not for someone who was dead, bonding but over tragedy.</p><p>“JJ,” Hotch’s voice is surprisingly clear despite the amount of alcohol they’d both consumed, “Have you mourned her?”</p><p>“What?” She can’t hide the surprise showing on her face, “She’s not dead.”</p><p>“I know.” He takes a swing, his voice mournful despite his usual stoic demeanour, “But we don’t know if we’ll ever get her back.”</p><p>She looks away from him.</p><p>“JJ,” Hotch leans forward in his chair as if he’s trying to comfort her, “You need to mourn her. The friendship you lost.”</p><p>“I didn’t lose anything.” She hisses at him unable to stop the anger she’d managed to hide so far. He doesn’t even flinch.</p><p>He gives her a knowing look, “I know I lost a friend. But what did you lose?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Shortly after that she’d left, head too full of the implications of what he’d said to be able to comfortably talk through the night.</p><p>JJ was too tipsy to drive back and so she’d called a taxi.</p><p>What did you lose, echoes in her head as she stares out into the rainy, cold night. <em>So much, so much.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When JJ raises the glass of wine to her lips, she catches the look in Will’s green eyes.</p><p>“What?” She raises an eyebrow.</p><p>Will moves over to her swiftly, taking the glass from her hand and putting it beside his. He’s so close she can feel the heat of his skin, the raspiness of his breath as his pupils grow with desire. Her partner puts his hand on her thighs, smiling softly and searching her face for any hesitation, any sign of a no. The sweetness of this stops her from taking his hand off of her and saying no, I’m not in the mood.</p><p>Another way her guilt manifested itself. They hadn’t slept together since she came back a month ago. And he had been patient, as he should, as she deserved but…</p><p>Ah, she sighs to herself, not knowing what excuse she could come up with.</p><p>It wasn’t the miscarriage. It wasn’t the grief, the guilt.</p><p>It was…</p><p>“JJ?” His raspy voice brings her back, “You okay, honey?”</p><p>“Yeah,” JJ nods and forces a smile.</p><p>They have sex that night.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She’s hunched over the toilet, vomiting her guts out. Her fingers scratch at her arms in attempts to wipe away the feeling of that limp small body in her arms.</p><p>Will had tried to comfort her, hold her, love her but his touch burned and scorned her skin. The grief and guilt had a vice grip around her throat, too tight, too tight and she could not tell Will a thing about it.</p><p>Another wave of nausea causes her stomach muscles to tighten and more puke to sputter out, the sour taste of bile coating her tongue, making her chest and throat burn. Her shoulders shake uncontrollably as she begins to cry, fist going into her mouth to muffle her sobs.</p><p>I should’ve told you, I should’ve told you… echoes in her head, the nightmare on a loop, Emily dying over and over again, her baby going limp.</p><p>This time it had been a little different. It hadn’t started with Emily holding Roslyn.</p><p>No… she sways back and forth to soothe herself, it hadn’t started like that at all...</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Almost home.” Emily is stumbling down her hallway, laughing conspiratorially.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>JJ follows her, giggling just as hard. This freedom she sees in her friend delights her, makes butterflies flutter in her tummy, her cheeks blush whenever Emily would touch her. When she reaches Emily in this dream, this memory, she wraps her right arm around the unsteady brunette and they walk down the hallway with less of her very drunk best friend clashing into the wall.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey… I was doing just fine.” Emily says grumpily, poking Jennifer’s side.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sure, sure,” JJ teases.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Their eyes lock. Emily’s cheeks have a cute tinge of red on them. Her lips are still red and glossy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Say, Jennifer,” The brunette drawls, “Wanna come in for a nightcap?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>JJ laughs nervously, “Are you flirting, Emily Prentiss?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What!” Emily says too loudly, “I would never,”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They lock eyes as the brunette finishes purring her words, slightly unsteady on her feet, leaning more into JJ.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She can smell the whiskey on her breath.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They’d been playing this dance for a couple of months now. Ever since… Tobias Hankel and Spencer Reid, they’d gotten closer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emily had cared for her wounds and calmed her nightmares whenever JJ would wake up dreaming about those damned dogs. And through all of that, they’d gotten a little bit flirty, a little bit inappropriate, tethering on the edge of their solid friendship. JJ didn’t hate it at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But being with a coworker would just complicate everything. Not just any co-worker - her female coworker.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But god… if she wasn’t willing to risk everything to taste the plump red lips in front of her, when would she?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I think I’ll let you sleep, Em.” JJ relents.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The brunette pouts childishly and JJ makes a mental note to mention this to Emily when she’s sober. She would hate knowing how soft she always got when it was just them two, drunk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fine,” She moves to open her door, glancing over her shoulder as she speaks, “But you owe me one.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Alright,” JJ chuckles back, almost breathlessly, mesmerised by the look in Emily’s eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The brunette steps into her house, the hallway lighting up as the door moves. She turns around to smile at JJ and say goodnight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She doesn’t say anything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Instead, Emily pauses for a second. Then she stumbles forward a bit, hugging JJ, who hugs her right back. Then, her more-than-just-a-friend friend leans back. She’s thinking - JJ isn’t a profiler but it doesn’t take much for her to know Emily Prentiss wants to ask her something. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It seems it wasn’t that important of a question, considering Emily steps out the hug, smiling a little dimmer than before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It was good seeing you tonight, Jen,” She murmurs. Jen, Jen, Jen… whenever she called her that … thoughts JJ can’t name come into her head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You too, Em.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Moving to pull herself away from the hold the warm, tall, beautiful woman standing in front of her has on her, JJ says her goodbyes and tells Emily to take care of herself. Emily mumbles drunkenly and steps back but stumbles and JJ catches her, laughing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Em!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But Emily’s eyes are serious, “Jennifer.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah?” She can’t help the concern that creeps into her face. Was something about to happen? Was this the moment when Emily told her this flirtatious …relationship… thing had to stop?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No. The truth is much, much better.</em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emily grabs her by her shirt and pulls JJ into a chaste kiss. The truth is JJ freezes a little bit, unsure of herself, unsure of this. After all, Emily is heavily intoxicated.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh god,” Emily pushes off hurriedly the moment she feels Jennifer stiffen, panic in her eyes, “Hey, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No no,” a stunned JJ answers, barely aware of the anxiety in her friend’s voice, too focused on the heat on her lips, “It’s okay, honestly.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, JJ, I’m sorry. Please, just forget about it okay?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?” She says snapping out of the haze, “No, Em, I ---”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She doesn’t know how, exactly, to finish that sentence. So here’s another truth: Jennifer Jareau pulls Emily Prentiss by the waist and deepens the kiss they’d shared earlier. The truth is also that her co-worker tastes so much better than she had imagined, or maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the mint she had popped earlier, or all of the above. And God, she’s so soft and warm and needy, JJ thinks, amused. Who would’ve thought?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But as her tongue licks at Emily’s bottom lip, JJ doesn’t have much time to be amused about this conflicting neediness. She’s entranced by the movement of their lips, locked together, passionate and perfect. And when Emily’s fingers dive into the base of her neck, caressing her soft, baby hairs, a gentle tremor makes its way down her spine. Despite herself, JJ moans, fingers digging into Emily’s waist, tongue demanding for more space inside her mouth. And she eagerly hands herself over to the blonde. Their bodies press against each other more, the hallway forgotten, their jobs forgotten, the complications this kiss will lead to forgotten.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For this moment, it’s just the two of them. For this moment, the quiet, strangled moan Emily lets out is all she focuses on as they move beyond the door, into the hallway, against a wall. They haven’t stopped for air yet and somehow JJ knows that the moment they do that this magic spell of a moment will cease to exist, so she prolongs it, pushing further into Emily, handing herself over to the brunette’s hand, letting her tongue come into her mouth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Letting Emily dominate her. Then, she’s at her neck, licking, nipping, biting and Emily’s hips are grinding down on nothing, a clear indication of what she wants.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Jen,” She moans out. JJ stops and looks up at the brunette whose cheeks are red, whose hair is messy, whose breath smells of alcohol.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So she steps away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Where are you going?” Emily says, confused.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We can’t.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh,” a sombreness invades Emily’s posture, “Right.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No,” She moves towards that warmth again and places a gentle kiss on Emily’s cheek, “You’re just too drunk right now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh,” Emily says again, except this time it’s full of emotion, “Okay.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>After that, JJ had helped Emily in bed, kissed her goodnight and resisted cuddling up with the intoxicated, and frankly adorable, Emily Prentiss. But it wasn’t her place to care for her like that- - a kiss was just a kiss, especially if you’re both intoxicated.</p><p>And the next day… JJ rocks gently forwards, shutting her eyes tight … Emily had acted like nothing had ever happened.</p><p>She didn’t remember. Anything. Or that’s what she said when JJ had confronted her about it half a week later, her dark brown eyes telling a different story.</p><p>Conveniently, the team had flown to New Orleans a couple of months after. Will and JJ were a thing and the kiss with Emily was tightly tucked away in her mind.</p><p>And now that Emily was gone and JJ had been irreparably changed… she can’t help but think about what could’ve been had they both pursued that kiss. A part of her resents Emily for pulling away but she knows she was just as to blame - she’d let her. She decided for the easiest route, the nicest, most acceptable route, the one with the blue-eyed husband and the opportunity to hide what only Roslyn had ever known about her, what only her high-school and college flings knew.</p><p>What Emily knew.</p><p>Jennifer Jareau liked women, too.</p><p>She retches again and this time she can’t quiet the noise as stomach acid rips out of her. She does love Will, at least she had at some point, but losing the baby, losing Emily had fucked with her head so much, and she couldn’t tell anyone about it- not even Will, the first man she’d ever fallen in love with, and it was destroying her. Too many truths were bubbling inside of her - so she throws them all up.</p><p>She hardly felt anything other than fear.</p><p>“JJ?” Will’s southern drawl accompanies his fist knocking on the door, “Darlin’, are you alright?”</p><p>“Yeah,” JJ calls out weakly, gathering herself as fast as she can, “Just a second!”</p><p>She spares herself a quick glance in the mirror, trying not to focus too hard on the rimmed edges of her eyes, and steps outside of the bedroom.</p><p>“Darlin’?”</p><p>“What are you doing up?” She asks by way of avoidance, moving back to bed.</p><p>She feels Will’s confusion as he stares at her back and when he joins her, his touch is cautious.</p><p>“I head you throwin’ up.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” JJ crafts a frown into her face, her lips moulding a lie, “I think must’ve been something I ate.”</p><p>She smiles at him weakly and tucks herself in bed, opening her arms for Will to come to cuddle her. Not that she felt worthy of it.</p><p>Will looks at her quizzically for a moment. Then his face relaxes and he leans into JJ, kissing her forehead and settling into sleep.</p><p>Was this so bad? JJ thought … was it so bad to have a loving husband and a child, a normal, happy life?</p><p>The memory of Emily walking away in Paris in her white coat, the explosion that took her child away, and a bath full of her sister’s blood flashes through JJ’s mind as she falls asleep.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They’d finished another awful case. JJ had stayed behind with Hotch and they inevitably shared a bottle of wine.</p><p>It was almost like they were getting back to normal.</p><p>“Can’t believe you’ve convinced me to switch to wine tonight,” Hotch says with a small smile.</p><p>“I can be very persuasive,” JJ smiles, drinking from her glass.</p><p>Hotch chuckles and swirls the wine in its glass like its scotch, his eyes lifting to meet JJ’s gaze with a determination that makes her still.</p><p>“What?” She breaks the silence.</p><p>“Have you thought about what I said? About Emily?”</p><p>“This again Hotch?” She says sardonically, crossing her legs and gazing out the window.</p><p>“Yeah, until you answer.”</p><p>“There’s nothing to say.”</p><p>”Hmmm,” Hotch swirls his wine, “I’m not stupid.”</p><p>”I know.”</p><p>”I’ve been where you are.”</p><p>She quiets as she remembers Haley, “It’s not the same.”</p><p>”Isn’t it?”</p><p>She leaves him without answers again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>JJ rubs her temples, trying not to let her fury get a hold of her. Will was pacing, hand in his hair, his emotions coiling around her throat. They are here again, for the third time this week, and JJ doesn’t know if she has the strength not to break.</p><p>“Will, please,” She begs again.</p><p>“No!” He whips around, eyes wild but underlined with sorrow, “You’ve changed, JJ. And no matter how many times I tell you that I know, you just lie to me.”</p><p>She swallows hard, “No.”</p><p>“No?” He snorts, “Why won’t you touch me then? Why won’t you let me hold you? Why won’t you say that you love me anymore?”</p><p>And it’s the way his voice breaks that brings tears to JJ’s eyes. This man, this wonderful man she had once loved with her entire heart, was in front of her begging for answers, answers she owed him, and yet she stood here, clinging to her lies, her fingers digging into her skin to stop herself from shattering it all apart. All because she was too selfish to let go of the broken pieces of her life.</p><p>“Do you love me, Jen?” He says softly, still miles away from her.</p><p>JJ closes her eyes, breathes once, twice, “Yes.”</p><p>The relief in his face is obvious, “Then why?”</p><p>“I was pregnant,” She starts, “and I lost the baby.”</p><p>“What-”</p><p>“I can’t tell you how it happened because I was working for the state department.”</p><p>“What does that even-”</p><p>“Will!” She snaps, “Listen to me,” She starts to tremble, “I can’t tell you how I lost our child.”</p><p>Somehow, Will trudges through his obvious confusion and pain, steps towards her and gathers her in his arms, “I understand.”</p><p>“No,” She sobs, leaning into him, “You don’t.”</p><p>They don’t say anything after that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t just the grief.</p><p>It wasn’t just the years of repression catching up to her.</p><p>She was changing as everyone inevitably does - and she was struggling with all the truths bubbling out of her because change was terrifying. Change was why she wasn’t around to spot Emily pulling away. Change was why she lost her baby. Change was why she didn’t fit with Will anymore.</p><p>Change was why Roslyn had died, and why her whole world had changed.</p><p>Jennifer Jareau had the faint feeling her skin, her carcass was coming off and all she could hope was that a beautiful butterfly would rise out of it.</p><p>Her phone rings, snapping her out of her thoughts. Will looks up from where he’s playing with Henry, a reassuring smile on his face. They had fallen apart but mended together again, as something else, something better - partners, co-parents, but not lovers. She didn’t know if she liked it yet.</p><p>But she knew it was the right thing.</p><p>She picks up the phone, “Yes, Hotch?”</p><p>“JJ…” He sounds unsteady, “We’ve caught him.”</p><p>JJ sits up straight, head spinning. She had returned from the BAU for the weekend with her family, the chase for Doyle happening in the background but never had she expected it to end so soon. She rushes to the kitchen, away from the ears of her family.</p><p>“Emily?” She says.</p><p>“She’s coming home.”</p><p>JJ’s heart bursts, the pressure cooker inside of her easing, just a little.</p><p>“I’m on my way,” She says, feeling that butterfly stir.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed it, do leave a comment x</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Heheheheh... i hope you liked it. Let me know your thoughts and until next week x</p>
<p>Twitter: @solthequeer</p></blockquote></div></div>
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